


Iron Klaus and the Sunshine Band

by tenser



Category: Eroica Yori Ai o Komete | From Eroica with Love
Genre: 1960s, Espionage, Gay, Goofy - Freeform, Historical, Light crack, M/M, Original Character(s), Spies & Secret Agents, Summer of Love - Freeform, musical band
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 21:49:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5471912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenser/pseuds/tenser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The 1960s, San Francisco, weed and free love…absolute hell on earth for the Major.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Iron Klaus and the Sunshine Band

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nomad (nomadicwriter)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomadicwriter/gifts).



> Written for Yuletide. It's set in a vaguely late 1960's-early 1970's San Francisco. The details of various things are not accurate, but most of the parts have some fact--historical, technical or otherwise--to them. Bit off a bit more than I could chew here, seeing as how I'm generally a smut writer. But I did end up liking the challenge of writing something different. I really do love Eroica and all its magnificent ridiculousness. I hope this fic captures some of that feeling and is enjoyable.

Klaus loathed transatlantic flights no more or less than any other inane but necessary activity that wasted 12 hours of time. Though, through the vagrancies of time zones, very little time would actually be wasted on this flight--they would arrive in San Francisco a mere 2 hours after departing Frankfurt.

 

Iron Klaus refused to cave to jet lag. Being a NATO officer required global travel, therefore, the body’s urge for rest on a dependable schedule was one of the first among many supposedly normal needs the Major learned to squash. 

 

His men, however, were another story. Their stunningly lack of self-discipline meant that his agents were sleeping at the moment. When traveling to the West, the best means of combatting grogginess was to simply tough through. Klaus had pulled enough 36-hour days to feel little effect. Since his men wanted none of that, they instead tended to complain about being awake for an inhuman number of hours.

 

Now that the party was within an hour of its destination, it was no longer acceptable by any measure, military or otherwise, for the agents to continue their misbegotten rest. Klaus pressed his service button. 

 

A friendly young flight attendant in an inefficiently formfitting skirt came bustling over. 

 

“May I help you, sir?”

 

“Please turn on the lights in the seats behind me,” he said. “And open their window shades.”

 

The woman hesitated, her plastered-on smile wobbling in the face of confrontation. “Sir, I’m afraid if those guests would like to sleep, I’m not in a position.”

 

“Bloody hell,” Klaus grumbled under his breath. “I’ll deal with it myself.” He unbuckled his belt and shoved past the flustered stewardess. 

 

“Wake up!” he gruffed, flicking on the lights over his sleeping men, “If you’re not awake in one minute briefing yourselves, you’ll be bypassing San Francisco and headed straight to Alaska!”

 

“Hey man, what are you, some kinda Hitler?”

 

The mealy-mouthed voice came from across the aisle. A young man with long unkempt hair had fixed his loose-eyed stare at the Major. Klaus was none too pleased—the man’s voice and colorful clothing had annoyed him since they’d gotten on the plane. 

 

“Keep cool, man,” the infuriating man said.

 

Klaus blinked. “I am keeping cool. I’m aware we are on a plane thousands of feet in the air. Otherwise I would have to tell a nitwit like you to bugger off.”

 

“Hitler,” the dude repeated, shaking his head. 

 

Klaus was flabbergasted. This idiot, who was certainly American, equated him with Hitler, perhaps knowing that he was from NATO, the world’s answer to the despot and those who sought to be like him. The complete ignorance of Americans usually stunned him, but this was basically incomprehensible. 

 

“What are you staring at?!” he barked at his men. Agent B tossed away the blanket he’d been clutching. 

 

On the plus side, he didn’t have to endure a single errant complaint from anyone the rest of the plane ride. 

 

***

 

“I don’t understand,” whined James as he trailed behind his employer. The wooded path was lovely, but the anxious accountant was more perplexed than moved by its beauty. “Why are we going to visit a museum and not steal from it?”

 

“Keep your voice down, lad,” a short, friendly looking Scot cautioned him. “The public’s ’liable to ‘ear.” 

 

“Yes, do be quiet, James,” lilted the tall man leading both of them. His impressive mane of golden curls shimmered in the late summer sun as they strolled along. This sort of beauty--that is, the Eroica sort--was something James was moved by far more than nature. Trees were no match for a statuesque international art thief of mystery and romance. 

 

Usually.

 

“But why would we come to the United States?” James’ complaints persisted. “You don’t like American art.”

 

“Dear James, do be quiet. Have I not explained that it is not American art that we are here to see? There’s a lovely collection of art from other parts of the world at this museum.”

 

James snubbed them both. “Well if we don’t make some money on this trip I can’t balance the books for this month what with the expenses you’ll rack up. C’mon, can’t we steal something? Just a small painting?”

 

Eroica gave the most charming nod and wink, the sort of gesture that usually cowed James into lustful acquiescence. It worked. 

 

*** 

 

The tour of the mint was not going well. The agents were nodding off, despite having slept like the laggards they were, and Klaus himself was beginning to feel irritated at the run-around they were getting. 

 

The mission was based on finding a leak at this mint, though he couldn’t tell the manager that. Flustered by feeling he was in the way, the middle-aged manager left Klaus to his own devices to wander the floor. 

 

The San Francisco mint was a rather dreary place. Instead of the klakkety, pounding noise of industry, many of the machines were inactive. The particular thing about this mint was that it didn’t print currency. The high-polish coins it minted were solely for collectors.

 

Klaus couldn’t have given a rat’s ass about coin collection, though he could appreciate at least an art carved in metal. The luster of the coins was garish, to be certain, but at least he could understand the artistry of coins more than the abstract squashing of paint against a canvas that was called art.

 

“Wanna see her run?” an overeager young man with an unkempt facial hair and unruly mane tied into a ponytail came over to the machine Klaus was admiring coins at.. Something about the man’s very presence irked the Major. 

 

“Very well,” he acquiesced.. It wasn’t every day that he got to see metal banged into a new shape. 

 

“We’ve done the run for the day, but there’s a couple unstamped coins left,” the coinmaker said, picking up a tray holding a line of small unmarked silver discs.

 

With gloved hands, he flipped the switch on the side of a machine with a single piston-like stamp in the middle. The machine rumbled to life as electricity coursed through its body. The man took a shiny silver blank and fit it into a depression.

 

“I don’t usually press the coins, I’m usually on the finishing mill. But this is where the magic happens,” he said giddily. 

 

“The workings of a machine are hardly magical, but let’s see,” Klaus found it difficult to suppress his excitement. He wanted to see the blank metal stamped into a functional shape. 

 

With a pull of the lever, the punch pounded in rapid succession against the coin. The man set the lever back in neutral and plucked the newly-minted coin from its birthplace. He turned the thing over, admiring the shiny beauty.

 

“Nothing quite like it,” the coinmaker said. 

 

“It’s remarkable,” Klaus agreed.

 

Suddenly the man stopped. “Oh, there’s something unusual about it.”

 

“What isn’t right? It’s an American quarter, isn’t it?” Klaus gruffed.

 

“It’s upside down, you see,” the man explained. 

 

Klaus wasn’t an expert in currency, but he did recall the basics of American currency. The eagle on the back did appear to be facing the wrong direction. 

 

“Who would mis-set the punch?” the bemused man wondered, reaching to pull the die from its setting. 

 

“Wait!” Klaud cautioned. “Don’t touch it. I’ll sweep for fingerprints.” 

 

“You don’t have to go that far, the logs are recorded in the office,” the man said as he pulled the coin free. 

 

“Nngh, you idiot, that was important evidence you’ve obscured,” Klaus growled. “But more importantly, find the batch of coins struck just prior to my arrival and see if the mistake is on them as well.”

 

The man scratched his head. “Yeah...I’ll do that. Guess it’s my job to see to quality control. Might as well head back to the office, this may take me some time.”

 

“Give me a call when you’ve discovered something. This is the address and phone number of the hotel I’ll be staying at.”

 

“Oh, you’re staying just down the street in the Castro neighborhood. Never fancied you for that kind of fellow.”

 

Klaus was irked. “What kind of fellow is that?”

 

“Well,” the man looked him up and down, “You don’t look like a sailor.”

 

“I most certainly am not. I’m army,” Klaus said. The ignorance of some people.

 

“Well, take the coin,” the coinmaker said.

 

“Obviously,” Klaus said. 

 

***

 

Something was very wrong, in the best possible way. People were giving out food for free. 

 

“I’ll take that and that,” James chimed gleefully as he accepted sandwiches and bits of fruit from the throngs of young people in the street between the park and their hotel. If they were going to be such generous sops to hand out things for absolutely scot free, he wouldn’t argue. 

 

The other two men with him were a bit more uncomfortable about the ragtag crowd of young people in flowy garments or half-dressed in the summer heat, and particularly uncomfortable about James’ blatant greed. The walk through the park from the museum to their hotel was against a sea of people flowing the other way. 

 

“Think your stacks getting a bit unwieldy,” Bonham prodded. 

 

“Then I’ll just have to eat some of it!” James grinned. “I’ll meet up with you at the hotel.”

 

“Must you be that way, James?” Eroica sighed. He seemed most bewildered by the free-spirited crowd of singing, swaying youths. 

 

“What other way should I be? This is my nature,” James said nonchalantly, completely unperturbed by his baldfaced coveting. 

 

“I think I shall be having a glass of wine at the hotel bar,” Eroica said. “Should I ever make it through the sea of unwashed people!”

 

“Right, see you there,” James said, already headed off toward a group of young ladies handing out flower crowns. 

 

He followed the crowd but soon found them taking up seated posts in over a grassy lawn. Small groups of people clustered together, laughing and touching. He found a spot at the base of a hill and noshed on his sandwich. It was some sort of acrid roast beef with even more expired mayonaise, but he’d eaten much worse from dumpsters. 

 

The air, too, was filled with a skunky scent. This did not bother James either, particularly when a bottle of wine was passed from the group of men next to him into his hands. Free of charge. He swigged down a gulp and then sputtered, unused to drinking something so rich.. 

 

“Whoa, be cool man. That your first drink?” One of the men, dressed in nothing but a vest and revealing short jean shorts clapped him on the back. 

 

“I’ve had plenty of drinks,” James said. He took another swallow, this time much smoother than before. “I’ve been an adult for a while.”

 

“You’re not over 30, are you?” a scrawny guy asked. “Never trust anyone over the age of 30.”

 

As it turned out James was not, the group welcomed him in, and soon he was drinking as much as he liked, until one of the men passed the bottle away from the circle. 

 

“You can’t just give that away,” James cried. 

 

“It’s the circle of life, man,” one guy said. “You have to give so you receive.”

 

“That’s not fair,” James said. 

 

“Hey man, just chill. You toked up yet?” 

 

A rolled up cigarette that emitted a skunky smell was passed into James’ hand. Naturally, he took it.

 

***

 

Whoever let such degenerates frolic so close to the mint, Klaus would never understand. 

 

Near to the investigation his hotel might be, but as far as morals were concerned it was on a different plane of existence. His brief sojourn downstairs to find a reasonable coffee shop was beset with many strange encounters with scantily clad men. One was even wearing chaps with nothing underneath. Several were dressed in the mockery of the female form. All around him they linked arms in couples and kissed one another. 

 

It was certainly overwhelming enough to drive him into his hotel room. Which, really, was where he should be, conducting an investigation. Not thinking of assless chaps and the toned buttocks they revealed.

 

The investigation was this: NATO had gained intelligence that US money was turning up in the strangest places. Coins had been melted and poorly smelted into other metal military equipment owned by enemies. It was suspected that someone was shunting cash to the Russians.

 

Klaus reviewed the papers again, though he had already memorized all the information. Looking at information about the chemical makeup of metals was engrossing enough to erase the recent “hey, pretty army man” catcall from his memory. 

 

Based on the makeup of the metal equipment, he had deduced earlier that the American coins were silver. Since most coins were not made from silver, but copper, that limited the possible source to sterling silver proof coins. San Francisco’s mint had been entirely dedicated to proof coins for some time. 

 

Klaus analyzed plans of the building. He would need to break in, of course, to investigate further. The fishy business today was just the tip of the iceberg. 

 

He sighed. It would be nice to have some coffee to stay awake long after dark.

 

***

 

Dressed in black and with his agents tucked safely into bed at the hotel where they could cause him no trouble, Klaus snaked a rope up to the high window of the mint. Places where money was made and kept had insanely tight security, but this was Klaus Von Dem Eberbach. The window was plied open in no time. 

 

He touched the ground on the other side with a light tap. Night vision goggles light the place up in shades of green. Despite the disorientation, he made his way to the machine from earlier and wiped for fingerprints. He then began looking for secret passageways and trapdoors through which money could be smuggled out or at least stored. 

 

The ground was unyielding cement. He began to inspect the walls when he found something. Heat signatures, two of them, behind a wall. When he stopped to listen, he could hear the slight noises of human activity. 

 

Just two... he could take them out himself. No need to call for his incompetent agents. Confident the mystery of the disappearing mint money was about to be solved, Klaus kicked the door and sent it flying inward…

 

...onto two men in a very compromising position. They yelped, Klaus’s eyes bugged and then there was a flurry of motion as he drew his gun. 

 

Klaus’ eyes narrowed. He recognized the man on the bottom as a KGB agent.

 

“Stop!” cried the man on top. “Don’t do it!” He was the exact coinmaker who he’d interacted with earlier. 

 

The man on the bottom reached toward his pants, and Klaus fired his gun into them. 

 

“Just let me put my pants on!” the KGB man shouted. 

 

“Ivan Krebov,” Klaus stated. “I’ll be taking you in for questioning.”

 

The agent grunted and lunged for his gun. Unfortunately he was too slow and didn’t dodge the shot to his arm. Klaus was on him in a second, binding the man’s arms behind him in practiced fashion. 

 

While he stood with one foot on the back of the KGB agent, he threw the shirt and pants of the other man in his face. “Put these on so I can arrest you.”

 

“What?! You’re not the police. Who are you, man?”

 

“You can be arrested naked or clothed. I would prefer clothed,” Klaus stated. 

 

“No!” the man said, tearing into a run. 

 

Klaus quickly knocked the man’s legs out from under him and crushed the naked escapee to the floor. The man’s back was sweaty from his earlier exertions. The thick smell of sex clung to his skin. He squirmed under Klaus in a way that highlighted his surprisingly built body. 

 

Swallowing an uncomfortable lump in his throat, Klaus bound the man in handcuffs. His shoulders strained against the metal bonds. 

 

“Look man, can’t you let this go? We’re a brotherhood,” he said. 

 

“We are not brothers,, what are you blathering about?” Klaus’s eyes narrowed. 

 

“Not blood, but brothers, you know. Guys like us have to stick together,” he prodded.

 

“What are you implying by guys like us?”

 

“You’re queer, right? I mean, with that haircut, you’ve gotta be here in San Francisco for the same thing as everybody else.”

 

“I don’t want to hear inane drivel from a traitor to his own country. Do you even know this money was funding Russian military initiatives, you insolent twat?”

 

“Huh?” the coinmaker said.

 

“He’s wrong,” the KGB agent said to his lover, then to Klaus, “He’s right. Men like us ought to protect each other.”

 

“You morons!” Klaus bellowed. “Will you get it through your thick skulls that I’m not a degenerate with your perversions? Nor am I a traitor to my cause nor country.”

 

A racket from the main floor drew their attention. The blond heads of Agents A and B popped into the light. Before Klaus could berate them for following him unbidden, they explained themselves.

 

“We were following you the whole time, Major. We thought you were acting a bit shifty this afternoon and so thought you might need backup. We’re sorry!”

 

“Hmph,” Klaus said. “Take these two into custody. I’m going to have a smoke.”

 

***

 

The Earl sighed. The wine in the hotel lobby simply didn’t pass muster. He’d tried all of their varieties and they’d all seemed so provincial. Bonham had been fidgeting the whole time, making it apparent to the Earl that he must have been broadcasting his disappointment. 

 

His discomfort was made worse by the loud, rough and young patrons of the bar. Some of them might have been attractive had they shaved their facial hair and worn something elegant. Among such rough-and-tumble heathens who easily touched and hugged each other, the Earl felt woefully out of place.

 

“Wonder if we’ll be seein’ James tonight,” Bonham pondered.

 

“I don’t care if we never seem him again, the lousy deserter,” the Earl huffed. “Swayed by a greasy sandwich of unknown character.”

 

“He’s always had an eye for a bargain,” Bonham said.

 

“Well this place is no bargain!” the Earl sighed. “I’m not letting him book our hotel next time.”

 

The sea of young people began singing. They chanted:

 

“If you’re going to San Francisco... be sure to wear some flowers in your hair.”

 

The Earl frowned. “That obnoxious melody again. I’m going to retire to the room. I’m afraid I just don’t understand this place.”

 

***

 

“What do you mean there are no flights out of the airport today?” Klaus bellowed into the phone the next day.. “I don’t care if it’s the personal band of the Queen of England – No, I don’t care if it's the Queen of England herself, blast that insipid country!”

 

“They’re not the personal band of the Queen of England,” pointed out one of the agents. 

 

“Shut up, can’t you tell a metaphor from your arse?” Klaus spat back testily. 

 

After more useless conversation with the booking agent, Klaus resinged himself to one more day in this hellhole. The local police were tied up with a number of dealings in the “Haight” district and asked him to keep custody of the two captured men for another day. 

 

He’d already been cooped up with them too long. He’d gotten little sleep wondering if one might escape and force themselves on him. This city was making him crazy with its rampant and abundant sleaze. 

 

Feeling most of the faces in the room looking at him, Klaus shouted a “get back to work” before slamming the door behind him and exiting to the street below. 

 

With the fresh air a brisk walk he began to feel more like himself. And if he looked around, maybe the place wasn’t as degenerate as he thought. There were normal couples and children walking along the sidewalk. Even an old couple. Their arms were linked, supporting each other as they slowly walked down the sidewalk.

 

As he passed them, the man tripped, and several things happened at once. Klaus instinctively caught the old timer by a frail arm before he could fall and injure himself. At the same time, the falling man’s male partner did the same.

 

“Oh dear, thank you son,” said the stumbling elderly man. 

 

“Watch out,” said his male partner. 

 

“You’re always looking after me,” the first man said, and placed a gentle kiss of dry lips to the other man’s cheek. 

 

“Now you’re making a show of things, c’mon,” his partner said. 

 

“It’s fine, this young man understands. He’s one of us. You have a good time on your visit, young man,” the elderly man said. 

 

Klaus stared after them in inner turmoil. 

 

He didn’t feel gross. 

 

He didn’t feel like turning away. 

 

He felt…warm. 

 

The feeling of his father’s kiss on his head. 

 

His butler ruffling his hair.

 

A rainbow of feelings threatened to burst forth from inside him. Intimacy, partnership, affection – the spectrum of decades of ignored feelings prodded at the iron wall of denial he had erected so long ago. 

 

In shock, he sat down at an available outdoor patio. Someone brought him a coffee. 

 

Would someone bring him a coffee someday in his own bedroom, someone who wasn’t his butler? Someone who didn’t report to him?

 

When he was the age of those men, would he walk the streets alone, too brittle to accomplish missions and too forsaken to enjoy the company of another? Would he stumble to the pavement?

 

Klaus’s moment of reckoning spun out of control. The lack of sleep and the overcharged sexuality had taken a toll on his body and taken chunks out of his discipline. Why couldn’t they have just left this confounded city a day early so he didn’t have to deal with this?

 

“Maaaaajor…” slurred a high-pitched voice.

 

Klaus looked up to see what the street had brought to test him now. He wasn’t sure he was passing the first test. However, what he saw confused him.

 

“Aren’t you one of the Eroica men?” Klaus said.

 

“It's James,” the man pouted. 

 

While Klaus pondered why the international art thief was in a backwater like this and cursed his infernal luck, James gave him all the information he wanted about Earl Dorian and far more.

 

“I just want him to love me!” James wailed. 

 

Klaus felt an intense desire to leave, quickly. The man was drunk and under the influence of some other drug. He smelled foul.

 

“Take a bath and leave me in peace. I don’t want ny of the Earl’s shenanigans this time. I’m nearly free of this place.”

 

“He’s probably going to leave me here,” James continued. “Why doesn’t he care what I do?”

 

“A bath,” Klaus reminded firmly.

 

“Yes, that’s it!” James said brightly. “I just came from a bathhouse. Won’t you come with me, Major? I’m sure it’ll make him jealous.”

 

“Are you five?” Klaus frowned. “Surely I don’t need to accompany a grown man to a bathhouse.”

 

“Oh,” James said. “But that’s the whole point.”

 

Klaus’ “degenerate senses” tingled. “No. I refuse.”

 

“Then…then kiss me here,” James said. He lunged at Klaus without warning, his small, dirty lips falling upon their target with precision. 

 

The hot mouth taking his was nothing if not insistent. For a moment, Klaus’ jaw weakened and he felt the sensual glide of another tongue against his. The sensitive organ sent a wave of pleasure to his brain. But the surprise was quickly over and the Major pushed him away. 

 

James stumbled back. 

 

“I’m going to tell the Earl I kissed you!” he bragged, and dashed off. 

 

Klaus, on the other hand, felt he needed to go to the bathhouse.

 

*** 

 

He should have known better. 

 

The steam barely concealed the illicit activities taking place in all corners of the men-only bathhouse. Random hands caressed his behind as he seriously tried to use the facilities. He shuddered to think what a massage might entail, and so he stuck with the sauna. 

 

He watched as two men struck up a conversation and then began kissing and pawing each other. Meanwhile the Major sunk into gloom. From the tryst in the mint to the kisses on the street, was he doomed to endless displays of casual sex in this personal hellhole?

 

Klaus had no interest in sex. Or rather, he had no use for it. He had urges from time to time, and usually they were for men. Considering how few women he had contact with on a regular basis, this was no great surprise. He paid it no mind. Sexuality was a capricious thing, after all, fixating on the most unlikely of targets and becoming a major inconvenience. He had no time for relationships, and no interest in this underground “brotherhood” of men. 

 

It was only natural though, that he found the tone men around him attractive in their Adonis like youthful beauty. It would be contrary to his morals to do anything about it though. It was just business. Even a casual encounter could endanger national security. 

 

He filed the memories of intimacy away, where he could perhaps revisit them someday.

 

***

 

A terrible surprise awaited Klaus when he returned to the hotel room. 

 

A giant poof of golden hair, several large suitcases in garish prints as well as two Eroica henchman stood together in a confrontational bunch across from his men. All eyes fixed on him and everyone tried to speak at once. 

 

“They won’t leave—

 

“You simply must let us stay—

 

“Thing is, we can’t go back—

 

“We’ve been trying to make them—

 

“Oh hush,” Klaus said. “Well, art thief, what have you come to bother me with this time?”

 

Dorian, clad in silvery loose plants and a flamboyant gray and silver top was very serious. “My dear Major, I beg for your help. I simply cannot stand another hour in this city.”

 

“Neither can I, and you’re not helping.”

 

The men stared at each other, the mutual suffering clear.

 

“Fine, let them stay over there,” Klaus agreed, to his own surprise. “Keeping them under our watch should spare the city from further indignation.”

 

“I had intended on stealing Tiepolo’s Empire of Flora, but I’ve simply lost my appetite for the art here.”

 

“I find my appetite lost around you,” Klaus responded.

 

The Major found himself falling into banter with the art thief far too easy. After constant run-ins, he was better acquainted with the man than with most human beings on earth. HIs presence was almost comforting.

 

Relaxed slightly, he took out a cigarette. Feeling charitable, he offered one to the blond earl. The man blinked long lashes prettily. “Will you light my cigarette too?” he smiled coquettishly. Klaus’ heart thumped, for no respectable reason he could imagine. 

 

“No, take mine!” James suddenly interjected, shoving a stubby, poorly-rolled blunt under the Earl’s nose. Other blunts fell from the inner pockets of his jacket in the flustered motion. 

 

“What? That has a foul stench!” the Earl protested. “And where did you get so many of them?”

 

“They were free,” James said. “C’mon, Earl, just a little. It has a great effect. It’ll make you feel one with the universe.”

 

The Earl crinkled up his nose. “A universe of sewage, perhaps.”

 

One of the agents, examining a tube, said, “It’s marijuana.”

 

“What’s that?” said Klaus. “Explain yourself.”

 

“It’s just cannabis,” said Agent B. “It’s not a Class A narcotic.”

 

“If the Major is worked up about it, perhaps I will have a try,” the Earl smiled. He lifted long fingers to the blunt James was eagerly lighting. 

 

As James prattled away about the correct way to inhale, the Major watched spellbound as the Earl’s pillowy lips stretched around the white cylinder. Few men had lips that full. He inhaled, held his breath, then coughed out a puff of smoke. 

 

“I’m transported to a word of smoke!” the Earl cried. 

 

“You have to keep going,” James urged. 

 

A second puff went up across the room. 

 

“What are you doing, Agent B?!” Klaus yelled, aghast.

 

“Having a toke,” the agent replied. 

 

“A toke?! There are captured agents in the room! You are not on vacation.”

 

“Oh Major, it doesn’t take much to get your panties in a twist, does it?” the Earl laughed. “I think I’ll have some more of this, it does become smoother.”

 

Klaus watched the room unravel as the men of both parties began lighting up the marijuana cigarettes and filling the room with a cloud of smoke. The short, Scottish man the Earl kept in his employee was even giving a smoke to Ivan the KGB agent!

 

Frayed, Klaus was about to shout and personally stamp out every cigarette when someone touched his arm. Long fingers caressing his forearm could only belong to one man. 

 

“Won’t you try, Major?” the Earl’s half-lidded eyes beckoned seductively. “The world has seems a kinder place, and you could use a little kindness.”

 

“What the bloody hell,” Klaus acquiesced. He brought the hand that held the cigarette close to his mouth and breathed in. 

 

Nothing happened, at first. But then, slowly, as the insidious vapors penetrated his body and clothes, he felt the world slow down. Every curl of the Earl’s hair became captivating. The golden ringlets caught the light so well, as if they were actual gold. 

 

“What’s so funny?” the Earl asked as he languidly leaned against Klaus.

 

“Your hair is made of metal,”

 

“Does that mean you fancy it?” the earl wistfully. “I know how you love steel.”

 

“Any metal,” Klaus admitted. 

 

“Then I should love to see you in handcuffs someday,” the Earl teased. 

 

“Though it’s you who’ll be in them,” Klaus ribbed. After all, the career of a thief only had one retirement plan: jail. 

 

“I’m afraid I don’t like being captured,” the Earl said. “Only captivated.” He shifted his weight, the silvery pants gliding over Klaus’ leg as suddenly the Earl was nearly in his lap, stroking his face. “I am captivated by you, my dear Iron Klaus.”

 

“Me too, Earl!” James returned, spoiling a moment that Klaus was grateful to be freed from. He’d nearly… He’d almost kissed Dorian.. 

 

“You pest!” the Earl chided. Then he granted James the kisses he was looking for. Both men giggled. “I feel glorious!” the blond man exclaimed.

 

“Earl, you should steal the painting after all!” James said excitedly. 

 

“Perhaps I shall!” the Earl stood up. “I feel lovely and Tiepolo has been calling my name with his pictures of frolicking youths!”

 

Before Klaus could catch his bearings, the party was suddenly headed for the door. 

 

“Stop!” he cried. The whole group turned to look at him. 

 

There were the right words to say, and then there were the other words that slipped out. “Agents A and B, stay to guard the criminals. I will return after preventing the international art thief from stealing a boring painting.”

 

***

 

The small party made their way the short distance back to the Haight, where suddenly the chaos and filth of earlier was seen in its right lens of peace and brotherhood. 

 

Once the Eroica group was swimming in the stream of flowing people, the goal of the art thievery was quickly forgotten. They were being pulled towards a stage along with the throng. When the destination was reached, the crowd pooled. 

 

Crowds were cheering at an empty stage. Klaus was pinned between strange men and the Earl. While the crowd gave him birth due to his uniform, kids gathered to Dorian as if he were a god. 

 

“Your hair’s so cool, man.”

 

“You speak British so well!”

 

“You’ve gotta be friends with the bands.”

 

“Man, help these guys get up to the front!”

 

Once they were up near the stage, the well wishers started cheering. 

 

“You’d think we was the act,” Bonham chuckled. 

 

“What a marvelous idea,” the Earl chirped. 

 

“Oh no,” Klaus said. 

 

“Oh yes!” the Earl said.

 

“I will not cavort and hee-haw like some jackass on a stolen stage!” Klaud protested. 

 

“Then we shall let know one know it’s you,” the Earl winked. “Manager!”

 

In a whirlwind of activity, Klaus and the others were drawn backstage to a makeshift makeup room where some cool cats were only too glad to slip him out of his suit and into something he would never be caught dead in. They gave him thick makeup as well.

 

The Earl was simply given a little makeup, and James picked up several guitars with which he looked as if he would make off with, if only he could remember where he was. Bonham was attired in some cutoff shorts and a plaid shirt. The Major refused to look at himself, aware the fringe on his jacket was the least of his embarrassments.

 

“You guys oughta play a set or something. Your friends aren’t here yet,” said the stage managers.

 

“Major, would you be the vocalist? I’d love to hear your sweet tenor,” the Earl said.

 

“I most certainly will not,” Klaus retorted. 

 

“I’d bet a fancy man like him learned the piano as a lad,” Bonham said. 

 

“I did,” Klaus said. The truth was he could also play the guitar, flute and other instruments, but he wasn’t going to sign himself up for anything.

 

“Wonderful, there’s a keyboard on stage. Bonham, can you handle the drums? James seems to have taken a liking to those guitars.” 

The makeshift band took the stage.

 

The lights in the hazy night were warm, indistinct beacons. The crowd became a fuzzy mass of joy undulating in and out of existence. They screamed as the Earl bounded to center stage, up to the microphone stand.

 

Make no mistake, even Klaus could feel the admiration--no, actual love as the crowd responded to the Earl’s natural charisma. Klaus himself felt a tad jealous, though he knew that he was at his most magnetic leading a group of highly trained soldiers, not some ratty rabble.

 

“It’s a pleasure to be here tonight,” the Earl said. “I love you all.” The crowd went wild, their shouts peppered with cheers of “he’s so British!”

 

Then the Earl began singing. It was pleasant but aimless some airy ballad or other. Klaus knew the crowd would soon be confused and lose interest, so he entered with his keyboard.

 

The simple musical beats he set became a pathway for the Earl’s voice. Soon Bonham joined with a real beat. James, well… at least no one could hear him very well.

 

With keyboard, drumset and vocals, the brotherhood of thieves and NATO agent wove together one song, then another. Despite the haze and intense softness of everything, Klaus felt these deep, gentle events sinking into his soul. He knew he’d remember this, perhaps with longing. But for the moment, he was completely engrossed in the new melodies stringing together his fate with the Earl’s, his men’s, and the crowd’s. He was one with the peace he tried so hard to create in this damned world. Here was electrifying, loving peace.

 

After only three songs, the Earl bowed. The band stood, illuminated by the stage lights as if by the sun, before they too took their bows and exited. 

 

After a walk to the Earl’s hotel, a quaint little Victorian thing, of course the Earl asked Klaus up to his room. Caught between the thrum of a deep connection with the love of the world and a shallowing high, Klaus envisioned the moment as the image of a scale, balanced on one side by shining silver and the other side with iron. Then everything paused and coalesced into clarity.

 

It hit him!

 

The real plot of the mint! Energized by the sudden revelation, the scale tipped toward iron. He looked up into the Earl’s expectant, sparkling blue eyes one last time. 

 

“Sorry,” he said. “I have a mission to complete.”

 

The look on Eroica’s face was sad, yet adoring. “Oh, I do so love you when you’re gallant.” His extended hand withdrew and Klaus hurried back to his own hotel.

 

***

 

All the lights were on in the room, blazing over the sleeping heads of its occupants, who were passed out willy nilly. The scene was a pathetic mocking of military discipline. Klaus was hardly better, searching the desk frantically for the key evidence. 

 

Heavier than silver. Not iron, but lead.

 

Not finding the coin he was looking for, he stood over his captive, the Russian KGB agent. 

 

“Wake up,” he commanded Ivan. The heavyset man groggily groaned. 

 

“More’n cannabis in those things,” Ivan said.

 

“Answer my question,” Klaus said. “The San Francisco mint was minting lead for use in Russian bullets disguised as proof coins, was it not? Are the Ruskies so desperate for bullets?”

 

Ivan blinked, processing the Major’s accusation, then shook his head.. “I don’t expect the Iron Klaus to understand, but the mint situation has nothing to do with the KGB. Nor bullets, silver. Nyet.”

 

He continued, “Those coins don’t go to Russia. They’re manufactured for use by the brotherhood. The real brothers men like us have.”

 

Klaus was irritated at being accused of being wrong. Moreover, what could that damned brotherhood have to do with anything?

 

Ivan clarified as if explaining to a dumb child. “An international brotherhood of gay men.”

 

“Why would that need a coin?” Klaus demanded.

 

“Identification for newbies,” Ivan said.

 

“Preposterous,” Klaus said.

 

Ivan went on, brushing Klaus off. “Gay men of every nationality die too, and our lead is made into other metals. The basic thing here is that you followed a tiny clue and it was a wild goose chase. There’s nothing here but a coinmaker who loves his fellow men too much.”

 

Klaus felt defeated. He knew the intelligence he had just been given was true. He was an intelligence expert after all--he knew the truth when he heard it. The mint was not giving money to Russia.

 

Despite that, he had only one thing to say. “I would never betray my country for a misbegotten tryst.”

 

Ivan looked him up and down cooly, assessing his captor. “Give it time,” he said. “Even iron corrodes unless it’s coated.”

 

Purposeless ignoring the taunt or advice or whatever it was, Klaus went to the desk to finish up his report on the incident, but the forms blurred and he couldn’t write. Something about the man’s words tired him greatly. Indeed, he was bone-tired. He slumped at the desk, only to rise a minute later with purpose.

 

He unshackled Ivan and the sleeping coinmaker from their chairs.

 

“There’s obviously been a mistake,” he said. “You’re free to go.”

 

Ivan hesitated, waiting for the trick. Finding none, he nudged his partner awake and the pair slipped away into the late foggy night. 

 

“A brotherhood, eh?” KLaus mumbled before collapsing onto the bed. 

 

***

 

Klaus loathed transatlantic flights more than any other inane but necessary activity. They gave one far too much time to think. Thoughts, doubts, feelings and questions made uncomfortable traveling companions. 

 

He couldn’t stop thinking, though, so he turned aimlessly to Agent A behind him. 

 

“Why would you bother to coat lead with silver?”

 

The agents had been briefed on the nature of the wild goose chase they’d been on and why they were leaving. So Agent A knew about the lead-filled silver coins. He was completely unaware of the drama boiling inside the Major’s head.

 

“To make it pass as a coin...I guess?” he said. The agents weren’t very good at voicing their opinions, as they were usually immediately berated for it. “You’d have to make a whole sheet to punch them thought. Seems like a labor of love.”

 

Klaus groaned. “I don’t want to hear that word. Never speak of this mission again.”

 

The agents were all to happy to comply. 

 

***

 

The Earl sighed with pleasure as he sank into the posh seat of the private jet taking him back to England. James was pleased as punch, practically squirming in his seat. He’d been pleased with how much money they’d saved from their modest hotel, and money saved from receiving so much free stuff in san Francisco. He hadn’t even pestered the Earl about not stealing any art. 

 

As the Earl watched his accountant, he saw a flash of silver. James was flipping a coin and humming. The coin was brilliantly silver, with an alluring mirror finish. 

 

“What is that?” the Earl asked. 

 

“A quarter I pinched from the table in the Major’s room. No one claimed it, so it’s mine!”

 

“May I have it?” the Earl asked. 

 

James scrunched up his face. He couldn’t bear to part with money, not even foreign currency, not even a beaten-up penny.

 

“May I buy it from you, James?” the Earl rephrased, producing a pound from his pocket. The greedy accountant pulled out his calculator, referenced an exchange rate in the newspaper and then smiled. 

 

“Of course, Earl!” he smiled. 

 

The Earl winked back. “Yes, you’re making a profit. But I’m gaining a memento more valuable than money.”

 

The blond man turned the miraculous coin over in his hands. The polish delightfully reminded him of the Major’ spic and span buttons. 

 

He giggled softly. 

 

“Until we meet again.”

**Author's Note:**

> And now I feel like the story begins... I feel like there's a lot more I wanted to write, particularly about attempting the art heist and James' adventures in the city. But I chose to focus on the Major as much as possible. Even then, the depths of his denial could have gone on forever!


End file.
